A/N Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews on chapter 1. First, have you ever thought one thing and typed another? Well I did in Chapter 1. Einstein won a Nobel Prize in Physics, not the Peace Prize (hangs head in shame at making such silly mistake). Thanks to those that pointed it out and it is now fixed. Second, I am not a chemist or doctor, nor do I play one on TV, so I apologize in advance for any scientific/medical mistakes that may come out of this chapter or the next.
steady state (ste-dE stAt) noun Physics A stable condition that does not change over time or in which change in one direction is continually balanced by change in another
Chapter 2- Flux
T minus 20 hours 36 minutes
God, I hate hazmat suites; bulky, hot, awkward, and regardless of the fact that there is supplied air flowing inside providing a positive pressure, suffocating in all their orange glory. Can't work in them; have a tendency to die without them.
"Dr. McKay," Teyla calls and I turn my head in the direction of her muffled voice, only to find myself staring at the inside of my hood. With a curse I turn my whole body until I am actually looking at her similarly attired form through the lexan face shield. "The room is here."
Ford, who is also dressed in the protective clothing, is opening the door to the room that just hours ago we had stood in watching the medical team treat a few cuts and scrapes on Sheppard. Little did we know that those superficial wounds would be the least of his worries, and ours.
Poison, Carson has told us. Probably absorbed through the skin, because, given the apparent potency of the toxins, John would have been dead within minutes if it had been injected or ingested. According to Ford and Teyla, the only room that anyone on the team touched anything was the one where Sheppard had back-shuffled himself into a shelf of glassware. Even then, they didn't remember John actually touching anything that hadn't fallen on top of him. But I did; a smoky glass that had miraculously survived the fall.
We enter the room and I point to the suspect cup on the shelf where Sheppard had placed it. "Lieutenant, that one there. Bag it up."
He nods gravely, inverts the plastic baggy and wraps it carefully around the glass, pulls it right side out again so that the object in question is contained inside, then seals the top with help from Teyla. Like I said, bulky and awkward hazmat suites.
I scan the room for a data consol and smile grimly when I spot it. Small victories mean little when your friend is fighting a losing battle in a hospital bed several floors up. Carson hasn't been able to stop the progression of the poison, only treat it symptomatically and reach a tenuous balance between life and death. He believes the compound is similar to nicotine, as close in nature to the Earth toxin as the accursed citrus fruits in the dessert John never got to eat are to an Earth lemon. Still, it is different enough that the drugs Carson has administered have had very little effect.
Yes, there were drugs administered when we finally got him into the infirmary. There were calls for diazepam, discussions on the use of atropine, terms like hypoxia and parasympathetic toxicity floating through the curtain that separated me from the activity taking place just out of view but still just within arms reach. And all I could do was stand there, listening, trying to make out the tell tale sounds of a heart monitor, a mumbled slurred response as Carson called to him, anything to confirm that he was really still alive. But all I had was the activity, the flurry of motion as nurses and technicians and doctors moved steadily and reassuringly around me, because as long as there was that humming tension in the air, that meant there was still something worth moving a little faster for and calling a little more frantically about.
I don't know how long I stood there, wishing someone would stop to take the time to tell me something and yet fearing any slowdown in their motion. But eventually Teyla was beside me, tugging gently at my arm, leading me to a chair in the waiting area and I sat with her and Ford and Elizabeth and we all lingered helplessly together.
Carson exited some time later, explaining the situation. John was stable, for the time being. Incoherent but he hoped that would change in the near future when some of the drugs they had given him had run their course. They had been able to isolate a toxin in his blood, but not stop its progression and until he knew more about it, he doubted that he would be able to do just that.
And that is where we came in, Sheppard's team minus one Sheppard. We suited up and headed back to the only obvious source of exposure, hoping to find enough of a clue that Carson can find the rest of the answer.
I access the data port quickly and confirm what I have feared. This lab was used to research potentially deadly substances, not completely unlike the viral lab located in this same sector of the city. Would it have killed the Ancients to label things a little better? Because it sure has killed enough of us since they didn't. Seriously, a big red 'do not enter' sign, a warning label of some sort, how much trouble would it have been?
By the files I access, it appears that this facility could best be described as a specialized crime lab, researching toxins and their potential modes of delivery, as well as antidotes. I find a catalog of items and scan through them until I find the glass.
I hold out an impatient hand, "Teyla, hand me my laptop." She looks around in confusion as to where it is located so that I try and fail to snap my fingers with the nitrile gloves on my hands. "In the pack, there on the floor." She hands it over and after a speedy interface connection, I begin downloading the information. The file is very thorough; I'll give the Ancients that, even if their safety protocols could have used some improvements. It includes a detailed chemical composition, diagram of the chemical structure, information on everything from routes of delivery to all too familiar symptoms of exposure. I scan it quickly and feel the bile rise in my throat when I read that death is imminent within approximately forty hours if the antidote isn't administered. Antidote… antidote… antidote… "Yes!" I exclaim when I finally find the file. Ford and Teyla crowd around the consol at my exclamation. "There's an antidote," I tell them as I scan through the listing of chemical formulas describing the compounds necessary to concoct the life-saving serum.
Ford furrows his brow. "Do you know what those represent?" he asks pointing a finger at the formulas on the screen.
"Ah, some," I admit. It's been a while since I've had a chemistry class. "That one appears to be lactic acid, but some of these others, I'm not sure about."
"Do you know why this glass is coated with the poison?" Teyla asks.
"Not yet, but it's probably in here somewhere. But, we need to get these to Carson, so he can start work. We don't have much time."
We leave, meet the decon team at the transporter, doff the suites and head up to the infirmary. I hand the laptop over to Carson with the file designations then ask about John.
"He's alert, but a wee bit disoriented. Dr. Weir is with him now, but he's convinced himself that he was injured during an off-world mission and won't stop asking for you and the rest of the team."
I nod my understanding and start walking backwards toward his room even as I tell Carson, "Ford and Teyla are finding Kavanagh to assist with the chemistry." He lets out a moan, but I tell him. "You're going to need all the help you can get; we're under a time crunch."
"Time crunch?"
"If we don't have something in about twenty-four hours, we're not going to need it."
He wraps his arms forlornly around the computer. "Great, pressure. As if my stress level wasn't high enough. If I keel over from hypertension in the middle of all this, I'm blaming you and the Major."
"Sorry, Carson. Take some beta blockers and get to work," I call over my shoulder as I turn and head into John's room.
"John, they are fine. No one else was hurt. They should be here soon; you just need to calm down." Elizabeth stands on one side of his bed, trying to reassure him and restrain his feeble attempts to lift from the bed.
"Yes, unlike some people, I know what 'don't touch anything' means," I say as I approach his other side.
"McKay," he breathes out groggily but a small smile cuts across his face as I move into his line of sight. "Ford…Teyla?"
"They're fine, running an errand for me right now, but should be here in a few minutes."
"Nice hair," he tells me and I realize that the removal of the hazmat suite over my sweaty head has my hair standing on end.
I make a half hearted attempt to flatten it. "Yes, well, it seems to work so well for you, I figured what the hell, can't hurt. Might even get one of the space bimbos to notice me, like decorative plumage on a bird."
Elizabeth plasters a fake smile on her face as she asks, "Any luck in the lab?"
I tilt my head toward the door, "Carson has the data if you want to see. He could probably use your help in interpreting the Ancient text."
She nods, gives John a final pat on his arm with a promise to return later and leaves us alone.
I pull up a chair and lean forward, "So, you look like shit. How do you feel?"
"Pretty much the same. Keep shivering, but not really cold."
He tries to lift his hand to show me but I cover it loosely with my own, feeling the trembling as I trap it on the mattress. "Probably just the drugs," I reassure him, "I'm sure it'll stop soon." Then I change the subject, trying my best to ignore his symptoms. "Do you remember what happened?"
He rolls his head to the side and regards me with hazy hazel eyes, "Cave in?"
I chuckle. "My god, your delusions of grandeur make even Kirk appear introverted. Leave it to you to turn a shelf falling on your head into something as death-defying as a cave in."
He squints in confusion. "I'm here because of a shelf?"
"Technically, you're here because of a glass." And his confusion just escalates, so I tell him, "But that's really not important right now."
He stares at me for a moment and I find I'm unable to meet his eyes. "Rodney, what aren't you telling me?"
I sigh because I really didn't want to have to tell him this. But then, who better? "You were exposed to something, a toxin."
His eyes widen slightly and he licks his lips. "Bad?"
"Bad is such a relative term, there are so many degrees of bad, and unfortunately we've experienced most of them. I'm thinking maybe we should rearrange the furniture in your room, give this feng shui concept a go…"
He interrupts my attempt at a digression. "Any as bad as this?"
I flash back to the way he crumpled like a discarded candy bar wrapper in the hallway, the Ancient text describing imminent death in less than two days. I force myself to maintain his gaze. "Not many," I admit and I feel his hand clench beneath mine. I squeeze his fist as I tell him, "But Carson has the recipe for the antidote, so here soon you won't have an excuse to just lie around and blow off work. If you keep this up, I'll be released for duty before you."
"You wish," he tells me with a smirk, but the tension in his hand doesn't lessen.
No, I think, that's the last thing in the universe I wish right now. What I wish is that I couldn't feel his hand trembling on the sheet, or see the way he can hardly focus on me, or hear that his voice has barely risen above a sleepy whisper during our entire conversation. What I wish is that I could come up with some snappy comeback and pretend that none of this is as desperate as it is. What I get is Ford and Teyla entering the room and a welcome distraction from my own hopeless thoughts.
T plus 19 hours 4 minutes
I lie in my bed floating somewhere between waking and dozing. In that hazy gray place where all the answers seem so obvious, then you wake to realize that your idea for attaining cold fusion using pineapples and jumper cables probably won't work, but damn if it didn't seem feasible just a few minutes earlier.
I hover in this in-between world, loitering about in my own thoughts, thinking of ways to power the shield, the stargate, the rest of the city, dismissing the notion of a pineapple, because that sure didn't work out the last time, although the ZedPMs do look an awful lot like the fruit. Actually, they look a lot like the glasses you get tropical drinks in at the Chinese restaurants that serve flaming poo-poo platters. Just add rum and an umbrella and you'd have one of the ten dollar concoctions at Emperor's Palace. Man, what I wouldn't give for some of their crab wontons right now. Oh, and some real, honest to god, spicy Szechwan chicken. Wait, I wasn't thinking about food, I was solving our power problems. Right, right; power problems now, eating Chinese food off the stomach of certain blond astrophysicists later.
You know, somewhere in the Ancient's database, they have to have instructions on how to build a ZedPM. I mean, the things didn't just build themselves. Hell, General O'Neill built one out of a staff weapon and supplies he found in the janitor's closet. The man has the attention span of a fruit fly and he built a damned ZedPM. Granted he had the knowledge of the Ancients downloaded into his brain at the time. What a colossal waste that was; kind of like downloading the data from a Cray into one of the little pocket calculators you get free at the bank, with much the same total system overload result.
Why do things like that never happen to me? To someone who could actually handle that sort of data dump? Why do they always happen to the one that can barely tie his shoes without assistance? I mean, seriously, Sam Carter, brilliant mind, brilliant body, legs that could probably wrap around my waist twice and still reach the remote with her toes…but I digress. No, Sam could have handled it, or at least had the decency to record what she was doing. Daniel Jackson probably could have handled it if it had knocked away some of that useless linguistics information he has cluttering his mind. Hell, Teal'c probably could have handled it better than O'Neill. But no, it bypassed all three of them because someone else couldn't keep his hands to himself. Completely squandered away an opportunity there, a true crime against humanity. And people thought the Hindenburg was a tragedy.
No, what I need is some way to access the Ancient's data intentionally; similar to the way O'Neill did unintentionally. Unfortunately, we have yet to find a handy little port that can reach out and grasp my head, thus imparting the wisdom of the Ancients to one so deserving as myself. And don't think I haven't looked. Regrettably, nothing is ever that easy for me and I'll have to come up with an interface of my own. Now, I know the pineapples won't work, but the jumper cables…Eh, probably not. It should be something a little more integrated; something that provides a kind of Vulcan mind meld with the system. Something that would feed information to me while I feed information back to it. Maybe I could modify the stasis chamber. Hell, Sheppard's in there now, I could use him for a trial run. Not to download the entire database, of course. I mean he's bright and all, but he's not…well, me. But, maybe we could just test it out.
And now I'm in the room, working on the controls, attaching the wires, running the probes so that John is completely incorporated into the system. I power up the consol and the unit glows to life. Sheppard glows to life, as well; in a brilliant blinding white that shines through my hands I raise to block the light. I suddenly realize I don't need a ZedPM, because I can just let the system feed off of John and everything will be all right. I can just let it eat away at the life that still remains in him. Let it suck him drier than any Wraith could imagine doing. But in return we'll have the shield, we'll have the power, we'll have the gate back to Earth. And I find myself smiling at the possibilities as the intensity of the light steadily grows and John's life is steadily white-washed away.
I open my eyes with a gasp; stare at the ceiling above my bed for a few seconds as I listen to, as much as feel, the pounding in my chest. What the hell was that? Crap like that could keep Heightmeyer digging through her textbooks on dream symbolism for a week. I can only imagine what Freud would have to say about dreams where you use your dying best friend as a glorified Duracell to protect everyone else from life sucking aliens. After experiencing it firsthand, I'm even tempted to search out a padded cell for myself for a while. But, no, that would be too much of a treat; a nice quite room, comfy walls to lean against, maybe some good meds to keep me company. Sigh.
The soothing thought of solitary confinement has calmed my beating heart and I decide I should probably get out of bed. I roll over, glancing at the clock and see that it is still a few hours before Ford and Teyla are expected back. Radek and I got them through the gate, but it was midday on the planet, so the plan was for them to lie low until dark then move in on the target. Elizabeth had been outraged that we had pulled such a stunt, at least that's what she said, vocally, in front of the entire oncoming morning staff. But I could see the relief settle into her eyes, even as she berated the two of us. She can thank me later for going against orders, or not. Honestly, I could care less. Let her get her panties in such a wad that she can't sit without smiling, just do it on her own time. I've got more important things to attend to, like finishing the disassembly of a certain bowl-covered box.
I push myself up and scrub my face with my hands, noting the stubble with the same ambivalence as the pile of discarded clothes in the corner. I should shower. I should shave. I should eat. I should go check the stasis chamber… I should shower.
But if I do that then I'm just one step closer to having to go check the stasis chamber and god, I'd rather sit and be lectured by Elizabeth on my blatant disregard for blahdy, blah, blah than walk into that room and see John standing there in suspended animation. I flop back on the bed, curling up snuggly around my pillow.
My lethargy is interrupted by a knock on my door, or should I say loud pounding. "Rodney, you are to wake up now. No more hiding in dark room wallowing in self pity. Say last 'woe is me' and open door."
Goddamned Czech. What the hell did I ever do to Sheppard that he would curse me with a last request that was spawned from some East European hell? Did he not think that just wanting to save his life would be enough motivation to get him out of that chamber? Did he think he had to assign a totalitarian cheerleader to me as well?
I stagger out of my bed, open the door and scowl as I lean against the door frame. He takes a step back, blinking and pushing his glasses up. "Ah, it is worse than in most horrible nightmare. I have found animals dead on road that look and smell better than you."
"Radek, what do you want? Because I really just want to go back to bed."
"Want? I want for you to gargle with whole bottle of mouthwash before you are used as number one weapon against Wraith."
"Radek…" I grit the name between my clenched teeth.
"I need assistance in lab, but first you must shower so as not to attract Atlantean equivalent of flies with stench of rotting corpse."
I hang my head in defeat. "Fine, fine. Give me fifteen minutes."
"I will wait here. Keep medical examiner from trying to haul your body to morgue by mistake."
With a growl at the back of my throat, I shut the door in his bespectacled face. True to my word, I exit my room fifteen minutes later, completely showered, shaved, and freshly dressed and we head to the lab after a quick detour to the cafeteria. Once there he hands me a welding helmet, gloves, and acetylene torch.
"What are these for?" I ask apprehensively.
"I need you to heat metal while I bend it." He pulls down the face shield of his own helmet.
"Okay, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but, what the hell are you working on?"
"Get well soon present for Major." And even though I can't really make out his expression through the tinted face piece, I know he is smiling cheerfully.
"Should I even dare to ask what it is?"
"No, you will ruin surprise. Now, put on helmet and light torch or I won't finish in time."
I start to protest. Then, with a shrug, I figure, what the hell, it might be a pretty good way to waste a few hours and avoid the stasis room. So I go to work on the copper tubing clamped to the table.
T minus 12 hours 56 minutes
"Well, the good news is that we have deciphered most of the ingredients for the antidote and believe that we can obtain them easily enough." Carson stands at the foot of Sheppard's bed as he begins his briefing, his eyes red from working through the night. We've forgone the conference room in favor of the hospital room so that John can hear what he has to say.
I sit in my chair on his right while Ford and Teyla stand to his left. Kavanagh stands just behind Carson, arms crossed with a scowl on his face, black stocking cap still successfully obscuring his braids. He has also pulled an all-nighter, although you wouldn't know it to look at him. I find this surprising, as the undead rarely look so refreshed after missing a night of feeding on the souls of the damned. I make a mental note to have Carson do a head count of his staff; make sure he's not a hapless technician short somewhere.
From her seat near the foot of the bed, Elizabeth asks, "You said most, are there some you still can't identify?"
Carson glances back at Kavanagh with a frown. "We seem to have a disagreement about what one of them is."
I look between Carson and Kavanagh; finally deciding on trusting whatever academic body awarded Kavanagh his PhD in chemistry and address him. "What do you think it is?"
With a smug glance at Carson, he responds, "It is definitely a plant directive. Possibly, something in the morphine family, but more complex than anything I've seen on Earth. Given the formula, I'd say it's close to diacetylmorphine but with a longer carbon chain."
"Diacetylmorphine? Isn't that heroin?" I ask in surprise.
"Yes," Kavanagh concurs, "although the chemical structure is closer to cocaine. It's rather bizarre."
"And makes absolutely no sense if you read the accompanying Ancient text," Carson interjects.
"How can you trust the text when the formula is right there?" Kavanagh demands.
Elizabeth holds up a hand. "Enough. Dr. Beckett, what does the text say?"
"It talks about Wraith's blood, with instructions on how to process a dried liquid, which makes me believe that this is some compound found in their blood."
Kavanagh rolls his eyes so hard that his head follows right along. "This is ridiculous! Have you ever heard of a morphine-like substance being found in any creature's blood?"
Carson crosses his arms with a shake of his head. "We are only just beginning to understand how the Wraith feed. It would not surprise me in the least if they did have some sort of compound that assisted with their feeding."
"Gentlemen!" The two stop the argument that they are quickly descending into with Elizabeth's exclamation. "Thank you. Now, Carson, can you still use the tissue sample from the Wraith arm that was collected to determine if the compound is present?"
He shakes his head. "I would have to process it as explained in the data file and there isn't enough blood left to do that. I hate to say it, but we need a fresh sample."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, just a minute." John raises a shaky hand from the bed. "No one is going after a Wraith."
"Sir, we captured one before," Ford supplies, "we could capture one again."
John shakes his head, "That was a controlled situation with the locket as bait. We don't have that luxury anymore."
"Major," I interject, "this may be your only chance…"
Before he can protest again, Teyla asks, "This heroin that you speak of, does it alter a person's behavior?"
Carson perks up at her question. "Yes, it can, among other things."
"There is a plant with a dark red sap, so dark that it is almost black, it is known as Wraith's Blood. Some people dry the liquid and ingest the powder. It causes visions, sometimes pleasant, other times horrific, it can cause the person to become violent, sometimes it kills the user."
Kavanagh looks to Carson. "This must be it." When Carson nods in agreement, he leans toward Teyla. "Can you get some of this powder?"
"There are those that trade it, others that grow the plants on highly guarded worlds."
"And you know how to get to these worlds?" Elizabeth asks.
Teyla nods, but I can see the fear in her eyes, which causes a shiver to run through me. For a woman that went one on one with a Wraith with just a couple of sticks for defense, fear is a rare emotion. "I know of one where they grow it."
John can see the fear as well. "Teyla?"
She tries to smile, "I can take a team there, but it must be small. Unless a person is invited, it is rare for anyone to return. Like I said, the crops are very securely guarded. Stealth is the best plan for acquiring the plants."
John shakes his head, "No."
A symphony of "what?" and "why not?" arises from the room, my own included.
He raises his voice, expending a great deal of strength to do it, "I said, no. I'm not risking the lives of others just to try and save me."
"Are you sure, Major?" Elizabeth asks and I can see the same hope I have that he will change his mind.
"Positive."
She nods her head in understanding. "Very well, I won't authorize any missions to obtain the plant."
"Thank you," he tells her then gives me a pointed look to reinforce his demand.
I frown at him then turn back to Teyla. "You said people trade the powder. Can you get some of that?"
"Yes, I believe I can. Small amounts are used medicinally by my people; I should be able to obtain a sample on the mainland."
"We could at least analyze that to test the hypothesis," Carson acknowledges. "If it is what we hope, can we get more?"
"I know an address for a planet where we can get more." She places a reassuring hand on John's arm. "Don't worry, Major, the world is perfectly safe. I have traveled there many times. Although those that trade the powder are not the most reputable, they are a very minor risk."
John sighs but nods his consent.
"Great!" I rub my hands together happily. "So, Teyla can go to the mainland to get the sample for analysis then Ford, Teyla, and Kavanagh can go trade for more."
"What?" Kavanagh demands. "Why me?" Neither Ford nor Teyla look any happier than the chemist.
"Because there is only one of two reasons someone goes into chemistry: bombs or drugs. I've seen you around explosives and you're way too twitchy, so I'm going to have to go with the whole 'better living through street pharmaceuticals' motivation." He opens his mouth to protest but I hold up a hand. "Besides, you know the composition of what we're looking for better than anyone else and how much we need. No reason to waste time training someone else up for the job."
"Yes, well, time brings up another problem," Carson admits reluctantly. We all look at him expectantly and he continues. "The text is very specific about how the antidote must be prepared and by my calculations; it will take almost two days to carry out."
I feel a sickening numbness settle over me. "But that's longer than the time necessary for the toxins to become lethal."
"I know," Carson agrees sadly. "I believe the drugs we've administered will buy us some time, but I'm afraid it won't be enough. This is why it was used as a poison in an assassination. If you don't have the ingredients for the antidote in hand, the victim has almost no chance of survival."
"Assassination?" Elizabeth asks.
"Aye. The file Rodney provided tells about how the glass was evidently coated with the poison and used at some sort of state dinner. The person that drank from the glass developed symptoms within a matter of minutes and died within a few hours; of course they would have ingested some of the poison as well. But the person that served the glass developed symptoms almost twelve hours later, just like the Major. They were able to save her, although it took some special intervention in order to come up with an antidote."
"What sort of intervention?" John asks with trepidation from the bed.
"She was put in stasis until the antidote was ready."
"You mean the stasis chamber where we found the alternate Weir?" I ask.
"Precisely," Carson tells us with finality.
I can't seem to stop the sudden panic that arises at the thought of that small chamber. It brings back too many unbeckoned memories of waking up coated in blue slime surrounded by glass. But if it will keep him alive, I'm sure John will be willing to go through with it.
I look to him and he wears the same wide-eyed expression I'm sure I do. "Well, there's no way in hell I'm going back in any fucking tank!"
Then again, I could be wrong.
T plus 27 hours 38 minutes
"They're on their way," Peter tells me across the radio and I drop the copper coil I'm holding for Radek and move at a lopsided jog for the gateroom.
Radek skids to a stop behind me as we enter the control room at the same time the wormhole disengages. I barely glace at Elizabeth, completely ignoring the disapproving frown she shoots in my direction, as I make my way down the stairs to the two forms standing, and I use that term loosely, on the gate platform. Teyla is obviously favoring one leg as she leans heavily against Ford. Ford, himself, is bent over at the middle, apparently cradling his ribs, so that they both appear hunched and worn. They are covered with mud and scrapes and bruises that are darkening before my eyes.
I'm about to call for Carson when Elizabeth does it instead, leaving me free to approach them. I take Ford's arm and Radek does the same for Teyla, walking them both to the stairs. "Sit, sit," he tells them, and then looks worriedly at me.
"Don't worry," Ford assures us, "nothing more serious than a few cracked ribs and a twisted knee."
With a grimace I squat in front of them, almost fearful to ask now that they are here. I lick my lips, "Did you…?" I can't finish the question, afraid that they risked their lives, came back battered and beaten, yet empty handed.
Teyla lifts her face, one cheek swollen and purple, but she smiles and hands me the pack she clutches tightly in her hand. "We were successful."
I break into a wide smile myself, tear open the pack and see that it is crammed full of stalks oozing a black red. "You did it!" I shove the pack toward Radek. "They did it!"
He returns the smile and starts laughing, patting Ford on the back. "You did it!"
Ford winces from the rough treatment, but laughs too as he roll his eyes, "Of all the things I thought I would do coming to Atlantis, the last thing on the list had to be fighting a drug lord's army." He leans back exhaustedly against the stairs and I start laughing as well.
"What happened? Were you captured?" By the looks of them, they definitely had a run in that involved a physical scuffle.
"We were taken at one point," Teyla informs me with frustration bordering on embarrassment.
Ford shakes his head. "Nah, doesn't count if they never actually got us into the cell."
And I can't help but laugh again. I want to say thank you, but it seems so insignificant, so insufficient, so totally lacking in the magnitude of what they have accomplished. But I have to do something, or I'm going to start bouncing like an excited Chihuahua, so I take Teyla's face in my hands and kiss her firmly on the lips. "You did it!" I tell her shocked expression.
She pushes me back, looks with concern from me to Ford and Zelenka, the guards around the gate, the staff in the control room. "Dr. McKay…" she starts. "You can't…" she tries again, and I'm getting a little concerned by the wide-eyed panic I see, the trapped animal tension in her movements.
But before I can ask what's wrong the medics are here and taking care of her. Carson squats next to Ford, but I pull him away and hand him the backpack. "Here, time to get to work."
His response is similar to my own; bright yet disbelieving smile, a pat on Fords back. He calls one of the nurses over to work on Ford and he is gone with the pack.
I sink to the stairs beside the Lieutenant as the nurse takes his vitals. "I can't believe you got it." I can't seem to stop smiling.
"Yeah, well, I can't believe you did that to Teyla," he tells me with a shake of his head.
I shrug, too happy to care about any social faux pas I may have committed. "It was just a little kiss, she'll get over it. I mean, it's not like I proposed marriage or anything."
He grimaces. "Well, technically…"
"What? Wh..what did I do?" The look on his face is not reassuring me.
"Doc, have you ever seen Athosians kiss?"
"Honestly, I've never really had much interest in Athosian mating rituals."
"Well, maybe you should have, because Athosians only kiss in private and only people that they are very intimate with." I suddenly feel the blood rush to my face, then drain away as he stresses, "Very, very intimate. That's why they do that head touching thing in greeting."
"So, what I just did… I just… And she thinks…" I seem to have lost the ability to form complete sentences.
"Man, you might as well have been doing the deed right there on the stairs." He gives me a disapproving shake of the head.
"The deed? You don't mean… But I didn't… It was just… THE deed? What? What do I do now?"
The nurse helps him to his feet and he tells me. "Start picking out a china pattern."
"What!" He can't be serious. I search his face for any sign that he is joking, bluffing, any tell that he may have. There is nothing.
"The Athosians don't have shotguns, but I'm sure they have something just as persuasive to push you down the aisle."
"But, I didn't… It wasn't…" I call after him, but he is already being wheeled away to the infirmary, Teyla one gurney ahead of him.
Radek comes up behind me and places a hand on my shoulder. "Not to worry. I brought tuxedo with me for just such occasion."
T minus 10 hours 24 minutes
I find him in the stasis room, sitting on the floor, leaning against the far wall. He's staring at the chamber, long arms draped across his propped knees, still wearing the scrubs from the infirmary. He hasn't noticed me, so I step back into the hall and key my radio. "Found him." Carson comes across bombarding me with a string of questions. "Not now," I tell him and remove the radio as I walk back into the room.
It had been Carson who had come to my lab almost an hour ago in a near panic that John was missing. Ford had gone to get him something from the cafeteria, John had been left alone for the first time since he had collapsed, and he had seen his chance and ran. The last time John Sheppard had disappeared, the results had not been pleasant, even if it really had been his clone. Still, that memory was incredibly fresh in Carson's mind and fears that his original self would follow in his clone's footsteps were written plainly across his face when he barreled into the room.
At first I had dismissed the notion that Sheppard had skulked away in a suicidal snit; he would never do that to me, not after Gall. He knew how that had torn at me, how the reverb of that gunshot echoing through a dead Hive ship still occasionally woke me in the night. No, not dead, not completely, not at the time we entered it, but too damned soon after. No, I couldn't believe he would do that. But the longer we went without finding him, the more I started thinking that was exactly something he would do. If his death meant no one would risk their lives in an attempt to save him, then just maybe I had been wrong about what he would be willing to make me suffer through. He was self sacrificing to the point of self destruction, able to justify away his own well being for the betterment of others in a flurry of stars and stripes that would even bring tears to Patton's eyes. I'm surprised a melodramatic musical score didn't just spontaneously compose itself and play wherever he went. The angst alone could set the molecules in the air to humming. And for a while, I wished that it would, because it sure would have made it easier to follow his theme song until I found him. In the end, I finally decided to try the last place that I knew he would want to go, and here he was.
He barely glances my way when I slide down beside him, stretching my sore leg out before me. "You know, it's not like I have nothing better to do than walk all over the damned city looking for your sorry ass."
"You could use the exercise," he tells me, never taking his eyes off the chamber.
"I could use a break from worrying about what you're up to."
"I didn't ask you to worry."
"Oh, shut the hell up. I didn't ask you to carry me through the jungle, either. In fact, I specifically told you not to, but you did it anyway, so enough with the martyr bullshit because my nerves and evidently your back can't take anymore."
He gives me a sideways glance and I can almost see that boyish glimmer in his eyes. "Like I said, you could use the exercise."
"Fine, you stay alive long enough for Carson to make the antidote and I'll let you set up an exercise regime for me of your choosing."
He seems to brighten. "Seriously? Even jogging?"
I cringe. "You mean running? Without being chased? Just for the sake of…running?"
He grins. "If you want, I'll carry my M-9; threaten you with it if you slow down."
I bobble my head with a sigh. "Sure, fine, why not? You go into stasis and I'll start jogging with you when you get out."
"Really? Wow, I never thought I'd get you to agree to go jogging."
"Well, then we're even because I never thought I'd get you to agree to go into the stasis chamber."
He shivers and I'm not sure if it's from the poison or the thought of going in the chamber. "I don't suppose you came up with some other way to buy a little time. Didn't find a spare flux capacitor sitting around?"
I fix him with a sarcastic smirk. "Sorry, Radek found one, but he blew it out trying to go back in time and watch the original filming of 'Debbie Does Dallas'."
"Well, as long as it was for a worthy cause."
"Glad you're so understanding, but that only leaves the original option."
He shakes his head. "I know it's the only way, it's just…"
"Yeah," I agree.
"I honestly don't know if I can actually make myself intentionally step back in a tank after what happened on that planet."
"It's not a tank," I insist, "it's a chamber."
He lets out a bitter laugh. "And the difference would be?"
"Tanks are operated by mysterious aliens with malicious intent; the chamber is going to be operated by me."
He bumps my shoulder with a sad smile. "And I ask again, the difference would be?"
"Asshole," I tell him, but it's hard to keep the affection out of the derogatory.
He takes a deep breath. "How long do you think it will take?"
"Well, Teyla should be back soon from the mainland with the powder. If that works out to be what we hope, then I'd say a day to get the materials and two days to make the antidote."
"Three days." He seems to be considering. "Yeah, I can do three days."
I start to tell him that it could be three decades or even three millennia, and he wouldn't know the difference, but it doesn't really matter, because I would know. And that is really what makes the concept of suspended animation so frightening, the fact that reality just ceases to exist while you're under. It had seemed like five minutes had passed when we came out of those tanks, then we found out it had been three weeks. You can't help but extrapolate out to how long we would have been there, completely oblivious and yet completely helpless to the world around us, if not for our clones. For a couple of control freaks like us, that is probably the most terrifying experience imaginable.
He looks at me directly for the first time since I came in the room. He wraps his trembling arms around himself and I do my best not to notice. "Listen, if for some reason the antidote doesn't work…"
"It will work," I reassure him.
"But if it doesn't…"
"It will work." I leave no room for argument.
"Fine, it'll work, but if something happens and Carson drops it on the way to give it to me or…whatever. I don't want you to leave me in here. Staying in there, frozen like that…"
"Technically, you won't be frozen, although the unit will significantly lower your body temperature…"
"Way too much information, McKay."
"Sorry, but it really is quite fascinating."
"Save it until after, then. But the point is, being kept suspended like that…I'd rather be dead."
"I'd rather the antidote worked and you came out of this alive."
"Well, yeah, that is kind of the obvious first choice. I'm just saying that if it doesn't work out that way…"
"It will."
"Will you just shut up for a minute, this is important." I clamp my lips closed around my comment regarding the anomaly that he could ever make an important statements and he continues. "As far as I'm concerned, this is a one shot deal. People are willing to risk their lives for me and as touched as I am, that doesn't mean I like it. They get one chance, then I want it over. One way or the other, it ends in three days."
"Just to clarify, three days was an estimate…"
"Three days, McKay." He fixes me with a firm stare that would have any of his men, even Bates, snapping off a textbook perfect salute and crisp 'yes, sir'.
Fortunately for both of us, I'm not one of his men. But even I know that you pick your battles. There is a time and place for everything and I'm starting to think that he will be much more open to listening to my side of the argument when he's comfortably suspended in the stasis chamber. Besides, his shaking is even more obvious and I want to get him back to the infirmary. I frown. "Fine, three days." He nods in satisfaction. "More or less," I add in a mumble.
"McKay!"
"John, give me some credit here. The thought of you going into that chamber makes me want to hyperventilate. I'm not going to leave you in there one minute longer than necessary. If there isn't a chance to save you, I swear I will take you out. It's not like I'm going to play Jabba the Hut and display you like a glorified wall hanging in the gate room."
He smiles. "You know, I hadn't thought about the whole Han Solo potential of the situation."
"Well, it's not exactly carbonite we're talking about here. It's not even a solid you'll be encased in, more of a gas and energy field…"
"Doesn't matter. I'd much rather be compared to Han than Kirk."
"Well, if you didn't act so much like Kirk…"
"Han Solo was a kick ass pilot; he had a sweet ride…"
"Ha! You're comparing the Puddle Jumper to the Millennium Falcon?"
He scowls as he regards me meaningfully. "And no one could understand a single word his best friend said."
"Well, Wookies and their speech impediments, what are you going to do?"
"So what's your excuse?"
"Oh, ah, ha, ha, ha. Fine, you want to pretend you're Han Solo, then by all means let your imagination take you to a galaxy far, far away. Although, technically, we are already in a galaxy far, far away and I think even Darth Vader would go running for his mommy if he had to deal with the Wraith."
"Yeah, who would have guessed that ole' Darth was really just a mama's boy with anger management issues."
"Just don't expect me to declare my love for you as you go into stasis."
He bumps my shoulder again. "Don't worry, Rodney, I know."
I regard him blandly. "I really feel I should point out that I am the person that has promised to take you out of stasis when the time comes, so you might want to at least try to stay on my good side."
"So you have a good side?"
"Not to alarm you, but you haven't really seen my bad side."
"Well, in that case, let me officially go on record and apologize for anything that I have done in the past or may do in the future that could bring such an apocalyptic phenomenon to fruition."
"Apology accepted. Now, can we get you back to the infirmary? I have a stasis chamber to run a diagnostic on before I trust it with your life."
"Hell, I was ready to go back to the infirmary almost twenty minutes ago. I just can't stand up."
I roll my eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "You really didn't think this whole escape thing through very well, did you?" I pull out my radio and prepare to request a medteam from Carson.
"Now, when I'm in stasis, I won't be able to hear you, right?"
T plus 33 hours 9 minutes
"Are you sure you're doing it right?" I ask as I lean over Carson's shoulder.
He takes a scalpel and runs another long line down one of the Wraith Blood stalks. As soon as he does, the dark red sap begins to ooze out. "No, Rodney, I'm not."
"Because, I'm not sure if you're going to get enough extract if you don't do it right."
I can see his hand start to shake as he makes the next incision. "Don't you have any place better to be right now?"
"Well, I could go tell Ford and Teyla that they may have to risk their lives again to get more plants because you aren't extracting the resin correctly."
He slams the knife down on the table. "Listen, I have no idea how to do this. The instructions for the antidote don't cover this step and I am basing it completely on a BBC special I saw once about opium production. Now, if you have any better suggestions on how to obtain the extract, then you are bloody well welcome to try it yourself. But if you don't, then sit down and shut your yap, or better yet leave."
"My god, don't they offer classes on pharmacology in medical school, or did you skip that one in favor of the one on bleeding chickens and casting bones?"
He closes his eyes and for a second I think he's going to pick up the scalpel again, but he seems to think better of it and turns on me. "Pharmacology classes teach you how medications work, not how they are manufactured. All I know about that is they are made in a nice factory somewhere, and every month or so, a well dressed young man named Kyle or Marcus or something of the like shows up, takes you out to a lovely steak dinner, drops off a few cases of samples along with several logo note pads, pens, and coffee mugs, some snazzy little displays and expects you to write a prescription now and again for the product he represents."
I scowl at him. "So basically, the Major's life is dependent on how well you paid attention to a television show?"
"Yes, Rodney, that about sums it up." He picks up the blade and returns to his slicing.
"Sorry, Carson, not good enough. I'm going for reinforcements." I turn and walk toward the door.
"Fine," he tells me, not looking up from his work, "you do that. Just be sure to take your time."
I make my way to the infirmary through deserted halls. The morning crew won't be coming on for another couple of hours. As a result, the infirmary is still dark, with just the dim glow of lamps throughout. I go straight into the curtained off area where Kavanagh is recuperating from his bullet wound. The last thing in hell that I want to do right now is ask him for help, but seeing as Carson's experience with pharmaceuticals can be summed up as schmoozing with drug reps, I have a feeling Kavanagh is the only one with the proper experience to save John's life.
I pull back the curtains and with a sigh realize that Radek has struck again. At least this time he didn't have to drug him, as Carson had taken care of that. Kavanagh sits propped up in his hospital bed, mouth open with a painkiller-induced snore. His braids have been twisted into perfect honey bun swirls on the sides of his head. By the scraps of a cut away scrub top that I see in the trashcan near his bed, I can tell that Radek has put our welding creation to use. Well, no time to worry about that now, although I'm sure I'll see the photos soon enough as well as hear all about it in Elizabeth's office in the near future.
I walk over to the side of the bed and call, "Kavanagh." He doesn't move. "Kavanagh!" He still doesn't respond and for a moment I'm jealous because Carson never seems to drug me into oblivion when I'm in here. I note the bandage on his upper arm where the bullet was removed and poke at it sharply with my index finger. "Kavanagh!"
His eyes fly open with an exclamation of pain as he grabs at the offended appendage. He looks at me with blurry eyes, squinting for lack of his glasses. "McKay?"
"Hey. Is your arm bothering you? Gee, that's too bad. Listen, since it seems to be keeping you awake anyway, I need you to come down to the lab and help Carson."
He sits up and looks around completely disoriented, still holding his arm. "Is there a problem with an experiment?"
"Well, you could say that. Here. You'll probably want this." I shove his black stocking hat at him as I start pulling him up from the bed. "And for god's sake, put on a shirt."
He looks down at his naked chest, something I could have gone my entire life without seeing, "Shirt?"
I leave the curtained room, find a storage cabinet and rummage until I find one, then toss it back at him. "No use traumatizing more people than we have to," I tell him, then with several snaps of my fingers, "Come on, come on, let see a little hustle here."
With a dazed expression, he puts on the scrub top and looks around as if he can't seem to remember what he's looking for. I take his glasses from the nightstand and place them on his face. "There, great, good as new. Let's go." I start for the exit, realize he isn't following me and roll my eyes as I grab his arm to start him moving. He lets out a yelp as my hand closes around his injury. "Oh, is that still bothering you?" I ask innocently.
We move down the hall until we reach the lab Carson is using to prepare the antidote. Kavanagh still has a hazy expression but he seems to perk up a little when he sees what Carson has going. "Okay," I tell the chemist, "fix whatever he's doing wrong." I push him forward and Carson closes his eyes with a frustrated sigh when he sees us.
"Is that the Wraith's Blood?" Kavanagh asks in befuddlement.
"Yes, yes, try to keep up," I snap impatiently, completely ignoring the fact that he has been unconscious to the world in the medbay for the entire night.
He studies the stalks that Carson has slit, adjusts the glasses on his face, and takes the knife and pokes at the sap on a few of them. "Well, if this is anything like a poppy, this is ready to be scraped when it gets gummy like this. Then you can slit it again. It will get more extract, but the potency will go down with each generation of cuts. And we need to put it under a heating lamp, it will probably cause more sap to ooze out."
I smile and cross my arms in satisfaction, not only pleased that things are finally starting to look up for Sheppard, but also because I finally found something at which Kavanagh actually excels. Now if we ever decide to start an illicit drug cartel, I've got something to keep the man gainfully employed instead of squandering away perfectly good lab space. "How long before we have enough extract to start making the antidote?"
Kavanagh seems to consider, "I'm thinking it's going to take at least a day to get enough from the plants, with an extra twelve hours for drying."
"Another thirty-six hours?" That would put us at John's three day mark and we would still be two days out from having a completed antidote.
He frowns. "This can't be rushed. It can only go as fast as the plant secretes, and this seems to be pretty viscous."
"Of course it can be rushed, everything can be rushed," I insist.
"Not this," he shakes his head, "not unless you want to spend an extra day trying to purify it."
"But there has to be something…"
"Look, I can go right back to the infirmary if you don't want to listen to my advise." He glares at me as he reaches up to adjust his hat. His hands seem to pause on the side of his head as he feels the braided buns and his eyes widen. "What the hell did he do to my hair this time?"
I snort. "Please, we have a man's life at stake; the last thing you need to worry about is a bad hair day."
"I swear to god, McKay, this is the last straw." He starts to walk out of the room. "You just take care of this yourself, because I am sick and tired of your attitude."
Crap. This is the last thing that I need to happen, and by the near look of panic on Carson's face, I can see he feels the same way. If Kavanagh walks out, we're pretty much screwed and although I'm sure I can get Elizabeth to order him back to work, that's just more time wasted and the longer Sheppard has to stay in the chamber. I call out to his retreating back, "If you do this, I'll get Zelenka to give you the solvent for the hair goo." I honestly have no idea if Radek actually has a counteragent, but if I'm willing to lie to my best friend about how long he's going to be in stasis, then I have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about lying to Kavanagh about his precious hair.
He stops and I see his shoulders slump. "Alright, I'll do it, but this shit better come out. And no more pressure to get it done faster. It takes as long as it takes, no more and no less." I reluctantly nod and he continues. "There's one more thing, and it's non-negotiable."
I roll my eyes at his requirement. "For a man with cinnamon rolls on the side of his head, you sure are demanding."
He glares at me. "You have to go away."
"What? You can't tell me…"
He folds his arms. "Either you leave or I do, it's as simple as that."
I open my mouth to speak, look to Carson for reinforcement only to find him suddenly smiling brightly at Kavanagh. I close my mouth and frown. "Fine. But the minute you're ready to start working on the antidote, you have to let me know."
"That depends on the condition of my hair at the time," he tells me as he turns back to the plants. I stand with my arms crossed, watching as the two of them confer. Kavanagh calls over his shoulder without turning around. "Are you still here?" Carson grins and clasps him on the back like the Judas he has become.
With a glare neither of them sees, I turn on my heels and head out of the lab in search of Radek. All I can think is five days. Five days in stasis instead of three. That's not too bad, I justify to myself. An extra forty-eight hours is nothing. I've worked forty-eight hours straight in the past and barely noticed it. Of course, that wasn't in a tank…sorry, chamber, and it wasn't after I had promised someone it wouldn't happen in the first place. With a growing sense of dread, I realize I'm not going to be able to put off that visit to the stasis room after all.
T minus 17 minutes
I study the results spooling across my laptop from the last diagnostic run on the stasis chamber with a frown. "That last modification helped, but we still get a spike during startup."
"Does it level out after startup is complete?" Radek asks as he crawls out from under a wall panel.
"Yes, it levels, but it's still elevated. If we have to sustain it for more than a couple of hours, I'm concerned about the power drain in this section of the city."
He looks over my shoulder, studying the diagram of the city and the critical systems the stasis chamber will interrupt. "Okay, cannot take desalinization units offline. Maybe scrubber units that lead to laboratories here?" He points a finger at the engineering labs several stories up.
I shake my head. "Schuller's running experiments on the jumper exhaust systems. I'd prefer not to shut him down."
"Yes, but if we reroute those systems to Section A, it may be enough to level out this section."
"What will that do to the Section A systems?"
He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, causing it to poof out even more on one side. "Give me a minute, let me run simulation."
I nod and roll my neck in exhaustion as he goes to work on his own laptop. I look at my watch again, thinking I should go up and check in at the infirmary and tell myself what I have the past five or six times that I thought the same thing. What I'm doing here is more important than sitting in a chair beside his bed. Ford and Teyla and Elizabeth are taking care of that duty. We should be done here soon, then I'll go. I lean forward onto the consol, and think how wonderful it would be just to nap for a few minutes, knowing I can't. I don't even hear Carson come in the room until he calls my name.
I look up, see the tension in his eyes and feel the sinking sensation in my stomach. "What?" I demand.
"How much longer until the stasis chamber is ready," he asks calmly, a little too calmly.
"Why? What's going on?"
"He's gone back into tachycardia. His cardiac rhythm is all over the place. The drugs really aren't doing anything anymore."
"Radek," I call behind me, not taking my eyes from Carson, "how long will it take to reroute the power to Section A?"
"I have not finished simulation, I do not even know if it will work."
"Screw the simulation, how long will it take?"
"Thirty minutes, forty-five tops."
I look to Carson with the question, 'does John have that much time'? He shakes his head sadly.
"You have fifteen," I tell him.
Carson smiles weakly, "I'll go get him ready."
Radek is mumbling behind me. "Of course, fifteen minutes. No problem to complete in fifteen minutes. Will have time to finish unified field theory with free time I have left." Then he descends into what I'm sure is Czech cursing.
"I'll help," I reassure him.
"Oh, yes, with assistance of illustrious McKay, will finish in time, no problem." His voice is muffled from inside one of the wall panels. "Ego is so huge that it has created own gravitational field, will distort space-time continuum in immediate vicinity of control panels."
I roll my eyes and tell Carson, "I'll be up in ten minutes."
Ten minutes and one irritable Czech later, I'm standing in the infirmary. Ford and Teyla are geared up and ready to go on their search for the Wraith's Blood powder. They make their final assurances that they'll be back soon, goods in hand, then exit past me with confident smiles. Elizabeth gives him a squeeze on the arm and tells him she'll see him when the antidote is ready and then she too leaves.
"We should go now, Major." Carson tells him and with a weak nod of his head John attempts to sit up.
Carson and I both move to help him and I realize that the occasional tremors have become steady, passing through his body like an electrical current. I swing one of his quaking arms around my shoulder and take most of his weight as he stands from the side of the bed, noting the sheen of sweat on his face from the effort he's expending. His breathing is labored and I know that just as Carson had warned earlier, the overall muscle weakness is impacting his respiratory system. I almost regret taking the fifteen minutes to reroute the power, thinking I should have just shut down some of the systems and the consequences be damned. As it is, we'll be lucky to get him into the unit in time to have something worth reviving when the time comes. The thought makes my heart throb painfully in my chest.
I lower him into the wheelchair Carson is holding and we head for the transporter. I key my radio when we reach it. "Radek, is it good to go?"
"No, is not good to go. May destroy entire power grid in Section A, shut down entire control room."
Honestly, I could care less about how operational the control room is. So what if we can't dial out? I'll fix that later, after. We don't need power on our end for an incoming wormhole, so Ford and the others will have no problem coming back through. At this point I'm only going to concentrate on one crisis at a time and my current one is sitting feebly in a wheelchair by my side. "Will the stasis chamber function?"
"Of course, of course. I am professional after all. You have not cornered market on pulling miracles out of ass."
"We're on our way," I tell him and we enter the transporter.
I place a hand on John's shoulder and he looks up from his seat in the chair. I pull in a shuddering breath to rival his own. "Ready?"
"Hell, no."
"Good, neither am I," I admit. Then Carson activates the transport mechanism and for an entire microsecond all our worries are demolecularized along with our bodies and I realize it's the longest break I've had all day.
TBConcluded